I See The Light
by MoonageDaydream23
Summary: Graverobber picks Shilo up in an alley, and one night they both realize something.  Grilo, inspired by the song from Tangled  but not a songfic
1. I See The Light

**A/N: Somebody over here enjoyed Tangled far too much, and all I could think through the entire lantern scene was "Shilo was locked away all her life until she ran into a dashingly handsome, snarky jerk of a thief... IT'S TOO PERFECT." Then this happened. The first chapter's from Graverobber's POV, and the Tangled inspiration is much more obvious. Enjoy!**

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><p>Cold whips through the darkened alleyway as I lead Shilo to our home for the night. She's been following me since the opera—where the hell else is she going to go? Thanks to her psychopath dad, I'm the only person she's ever met who isn't dead. Somebody's got to help her with the withdrawals her "medicine" left her with. Somebody's got to deal with her emotional scars. Might as well be me.<p>

Don't look at me like that. Yeah, I'm a drug dealer, a thief, a graverobber, and an all-around bad guy, but I've got a heart in there somewhere. It's really mine, too. What kind of person would just leave a lost little girl shivering in a graveyard after seeing her entire world come crashing down around her, her pain broadcast on screens for the entire city to see? She was worthy of pity, unlike the slimy, snivelling whores constantly crying to me for relief from the shit they brought on themselves. She had no way to get that relief, so I helped out, no little glass vial involved.

I've gotta say, too, she earns her keep well. She's a damned fine apprentice, small enough to sneak through the bars of locked gates, quiet enough not to be noticed by the GENEcops (because I've always cared so much about that). She's a quick learner and an even quicker worker—that is, when she's not incapacitated by the tremors and weakness that were her beloved father's lasting legacy. I've never seen anyone clean out an entire mausoleum of Zydrate within ten minutes.

It was nice just having her around, too. I've always lived and worked alone, caring about nothing but myself and my next harvest, so I'm enjoying finally having something to feel protective over besides my own sorry ass. Okay, having to punch out the sick bastards who want to rape the poor kid and having to comfort her when the withdrawals and the nightmares kick in sucks, but the way her big brown eyes light up with gratitude makes it all worth it. I could live with her tiny arms wrapped me, feeling her weak heart beating frantically against my own, shielding her frail form with mine. I don't know why being around her makes me so damn content with life, but it does and it's the only thing that does. If anything ever happened to that kid—

Oh, goddamnit.

I'm in love with her.

I've spent years distancing myself from the world, hiding my face and name, living in a blur of Zydrate, corpses, and prostitutes. It was dangerous for someone in my business to let anyone in and to hold anything close but a fake reputation, but somehow, that little girl shivering across the Dumpster had managed it. She was wrapped in a shredded newspaper in a futile effort to keep warm, wig knocked askew. She'd be mortified if she were awake, but as it was, she was asleep and I've never liked that damn thing anyway. It's the only thing about her that's not pure, natural Shilo Wallace. I'd much rather run my fingers over the dark stubble that's been slowly growing in over the past couple months. That's hers, that's my Shilo.

It's so easy to think of her as mine, I muse as I wrap my coat and arms around her body. I pull her close to my chest and her shivering ceases immediately, her arms snaking over my shoulders as she clings desperately to me. My black lips press against her fuzzy hair, letting her know that I'm not going anywhere. I close my eyes and breathe in the clean, lavender smell that even months on the streets can't seem to rid her of.

"Love you, kid," I whisper softly as sleep takes me, too, into its gentle embrace.


	2. Like The Sky Is New

**A/N: I'm not as fond of Shilo's chapter as Graverobber's, mainly because every time I try to write a sweet, innocent little girl I'm reminded that I can't actually write sweet, innocent little girls.**

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><p>It's so cold, worse than I've ever felt before. Okay, I've always had four walls, a roof, and a bed to protect me from the weather (<em>"It's not safe."<em>), but not anymore. You'd think six months would have gotten me used to my new life as a street urchin, but no such luck. I still have to fight like crazy when my disease (_"I'm the cause of all your sickness."_) takes over, still can't take care of myself worth anything.

Good thing he's here to help me. If he wasn't here, it would be me he harvests Zydrate from next time. I wanted to die those first few weeks, between the pain of my withdrawals (_"I drugged your blood."_) and the pain in my heart (_"I didn't know I loved you so much but I do."_). He wouldn't let me, just held me as I cried and urged me to keep fighting. (_"This will pass, you've got to fight through it."_) The bastard wouldn't even give me a hit of the glowing blue oblivion that helped the other girls so much. Didn't he see how much I needed it? (_"I can't feel nothin' at all…"_)

It's not like I didn't earn it, either. Thanks to him, I'm a graverobber now, too. (_"It's my job to steal and rob graves!"_) He does most of the dirty work, but he says I'm the best lookout he's ever seen. Why he even needs a lookout is beyond me, knowing how he likes to scream at the top of his lungs while surrounded by GENEcops. And no, I've never really forgiven him for that.

But who else was I going to turn to? Besides him, I've only really ever met two people in my life (_"You've turned this house into a tomb."_), one of whom couldn't be trusted (_"The man who made you sick."_) and both of whom were dead. I still have nightmares about that every night, nightmares that I can only wake up from when he shakes me and says my name in his low, gravelly voice (_"Shilo, is your name Shilo?"_) (_"Shilo, you're the world to me."_). Then I'll cry into his chest until I fall back asleep to repeat the whole process again. I'm always expecting him to be gone when I wake up (_"Nothing ever lasts in this world."_) because I just know I'm driving him crazy. Yet he never says a word about it, just rubs my back and whispers that it's going to be okay. And somehow, though I know nothing can ever bring back my dad or Mag, I know it will as long as he's there.

It's funny, I don't even know his name, let alone anything about him. I just know that he's all I have left in this world, ever since the day he found me collapsed in an alley covered in the blood of the only people I could ever call family. Somehow, he reminds me of the centuries-old fairytale books my dad used to bring me (with the warning that life never worked that way, of course). They were filled with stories of beautiful princesses who had been imprisoned in towers until a dashing hero came to sweep them away. Dad was right about one thing: real life didn't work that way, and there was no white horse or knight in shining armor in my story. Probably no happily ever after, either, if my life until now was any indication, but he did rescue me and for that I can't help but….

No, that's impossible. (_"Foolish dreams can destroy a grown man. What chance has a seventeen-year-old girl?"_) Even if I did love him, Graverobber can't walk down an alley without perfection throwing itself at him. (_"Drug market, love market, sometimes I wonder why they need me at all."_) What could he possibly want with a girl who can barely stand for twenty minutes. He deserves the flawless bodies and functioning organs of his customers, not a pale, scrawny, sickly trauma patient. Even if I've never seen the face under all that paint, I know it's too beautiful to look at me with more than a pitying, condescending smile.

And so I let him lift me into tonight's Dumpster and slide all the way into a corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. I shiver under the newspaper I'm using as a blanket, all too aware of the warm body next to me. I'm shaking so hard my wig falls off, but I can't summon the energy to fix it. It's cold, too cold… and then suddenly it's not. Suddenly, I'm surrounded by thick leather and faux fur instead of a tattered piece of the Daily Slice, held on by the muscular arms that are always there when I need comfort. I snuggle in, grateful for the heat of his body and the gentle beating of his heart. Maybe it's because I'm half-asleep, but I can almost feel the soft pressure of lips against the crown of my head, and I imagine hearing the Graverobber's voice whispering that he loves me. I smile as I drift off, pretending for just a moment that it wasn't crazy for me to love him too.

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><p><strong>AN: Time to explain a little symbolic thing that I think I failed spectacularly at getting across in the fic. All the movie quotes are meant to symbolize that she can't get rid of thoughts of the Opera, Mag, and Nathan, and when they get less frequent and stop during the end, it's supposed to mean Graverobber's helping her get over it a little bit so it doesn't consume her completely.**


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